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Dear Diary

Walking hand in hand with Jordie, age 7, and Adam, age 5, Grandpa Fred was heard to say:

“I’m sorry, boys. I told you, Grandpa doesn’t go to see movies where the animals talk.”

Evelyn Malina

Dear Diary:

The other day I got off the Lexington Avenue subway train at 68th Street, and as I trudged up the steep flight of stairs toward the street exit, a black patent-leather high-heeled shoe tumbled down the steps and came to rest at my feet.

I looked up to see an attractive young woman hobbling back down the stairs, where she’d obviously come out of her shoe as she was ascending.

“Just bought them today, and I knew I should have held out for the smaller size,” she explained, red-faced.

Instead, I cautioned her, “Be sure you get home before the clock strikes 12.”

Richard Curtis

Dear Diary:

When I arrived home and unpacked my purchases from Staples, I realized that an inexpensive calculator was missing from the bag. I immediately called the store and spoke with the manager, who actually located the calculator at the cash register station I had used.

“I’ll put it in a bag with your name on it” he said. I gave him my name.

After a moment’s silence I heard him say, sotto voce, “Anybody got a pen? You got something to write with? I need a pen.”Barry Levine

Dear Diary:

Exiting the subway at Wall Street, I was a little worried at an overheard conversation between a buttoned-down mom and her 5-ish-looking son:

Mom: “...not doing well in school? You need to do well in school, so that you can get into a good college...”

Uh-oh, I thought, here comes the guilt trip.

Mom (continuing): “...so that you can become a professional football player.”

Oh. Nicely done, Mom.

Keith Herron

Dear Diary:

As I crossed Broadway above Columbus Circle during the morning rush, with a horde of fellow pedestrians on their way to work, I heard a horn blaring, emanating from an approaching white van.

Photo

Credit
Lars Leetaru

The van was forced to stop as the group of commuters flocked across Broadway, paying no attention to the vehicle, which in fact had the right of way.

The screech of the horn continued for what seemed like an eternity, so I turned around to get a better look at the culprit. On the side of the van was a painted sign advertising the trade of the vehicle’s occupant: Soundproof Window Installation.

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I then heard my name being called, and there on the street was a fire truck with the driver calling out my name: “Susan!”

It was a firefighter whom I have known for many years; he plays basketball at the 92nd Street Y, where I work.

As I approached the corner, the fire truck made a left turn, and all the firemen called out “HELLO SUSAN” while waving and teasing me. They all sounded like little girls saying hello!

It brought a lot of smiles to all the people around me.

Susan Grucci

Dear Diary:

Car, van and pedestrian traffic through the intersection at 53rd and Lexington during lunch hour is usually very heavy. I was crossing on the south side of the street, heading west.

As I reached the far corner, I noticed pedestrians watching a biker swing around a van that had just run a red light to take a parking space. He continued onto the sidewalk as the van’s youngish driver opened his door and stepped down to the sidewalk.

The biker said in a surprisingly even voice, “That was almost a really bad accident.” The driver stared at the biker and said simply, “I’m sorry.” At that, the biker completed his circling of the van and headed north.

I was stunned. A peaceful exchange that may have made an impact on the van driver, not counting the many bystanders who may have expected a shouting match.

Good grief, I thought. What has this boisterous city come to?

Robert Swain

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